The Lost Manuscript

In the dream, I believe there must be a copy of it somewhere, but I can’t find it.  It’s a piece that I wrote a long time ago, maybe back in college.  I thought the college or one of my professors would have a copy of it, because it was so very exceptional, but no one can find it.  I’d forgotten all about it for a time, but it’s important that I find it now because it forms part of something that I am trying to put together.  It will be the best thing I have ever written, a masterpiece.  And this is part of it.  I don’t remember what the lost manuscript said, so I can’t try to re-create it, I just know it was excellent and ahead of its time.  Its time is now, but how does no one have a copy of it?

Dreams

This is my new recurring dream, with a bit of variety each time. There is a book trying to be written, and it may be formed around dreams.  I my dreams, I am trying to find the book.

It seems to me that far beyond just stuff our mind makes up when it’s supposed to be resting, dreams may be some type of alternate reality.  A reality that doesn’t exactly fit inside of this one, so that an entire universe of experiences condenses into a few oddly-meshing images or impressions for a short time after I wake.  When I manage to float, even for moments, in that middle level between dreaming and not-dreaming, I can call to memory whole multi-level worlds of things and happenings, and I can’t tell if I am remembering old dreams from long ago, or if each dream is its own lifetime with its own distant past.  I put the question to myself, but before I can determine an answer, I become too “awake” and it all melts away and I can’t remember the question anymore. 

This is not something that happened once.  This is a practice.

Anyway.  I hope you think dreams are interesting.  I think they are mysterious and fascinating.  I am trying to find how they fit into the puzzle of existence in the same way I dream of trying to find my lost manuscript.  It’s a thing looking at itself in a mirror.

The House

Still building.  Should be done in a number of weeks that I can hopefully count on my fingers.  Current location on the map:  last floor tiles are being grouted, windows and doors ordered, need to make window bars (so that I can leave the windows open), bathroom fixtures are purchased but need to be installed, kitchen counters are built, with cabinets coming soon.

So far, I only remember one dream about the house. It was very big (it is big, but I mean bigger!) and I was admiring a red brick wall which I didn’t remember planning for but I thought it was really nice.  This is not a wall that is in the actual physical house, although the (terracotta) floor is the color of red brick, so maybe that’s where that came from.  There was more to the dream, but it’s all gone now.  I wonder why is this the snapshot that made it back across the border with me?

The amount of cleaning that is going to have to be done in there before I move is inconceivable.  And around the house, too.  It looks a bit like a (wooden) palace in a junkyard right now.

The Future Me

I can’t wait to be her.   I like Current Me alright, but I like Future Me even better.

I think about who she could be in the best of cases and I ask her what she needs from me now.  She says she needs for me to keep doing what I’m doing even if I feel tired sometimes, because we have to get all the way through this.  She says not to panic.  Ever.  She is very very thankful for the lovely house.  Not so much because she needs a lovely house per se, but because the peaceful vibe of it and the sustaining energy it has are very good for her.  I think she is working on the book I am trying to remember.

Younger Me

I remember being 10 years old and having this Feeling.  I knew that I didn’t know who or what I was going to be when I grew up, but that it was going to be something I could’t quite image, and it was going to be awesome.  I thought I might be famous, lol, which hasn’t exactly happened, but it was more like a possibility than an aspiration.   In my mind, I talked to a lot of people.  Sort of like this.

Then I see me being 23, lying in my cold little bed in my college apartment, looking out the icy window at the moon, feeling completely torn to shreds about having been to Costa Rica and not wanting to leave, knowing that my level of brokenness over that made absolutely no sense.  And feeling this absurd certainty that I needed to throw everything I was creating to the wind and come here.  For no apparent reason but that I must.  And where in the world I am going to get the nerve to do that?

Current Me

It makes a lot more sense now that I’ve stopped believing in time as a straight line.  Current Me is the one telling the 23 year old girlwoman, yes yes yes, no you are not crazy, yes you are right.  Current Me is the one that Little Me was hearing in her mind, Current Me that told her You cannot possibly imagine what’s coming but don’t worry.  You’re going to like it.  

Another Dream

I dreamed I was holding a baby girl—a big baby girl, maybe 9 or 10 months old—and the baby was me.  Baby Me had the thin blonde hair and almond eyes that are in my baby pictures and I thought how lucky I was to be able to hold Baby Me.  Baby Me didn’t know that the woman holding her was her own self, later, but she must have recognized me as familiar because she wasn’t scared. 

That was a cool dream.

Blurry Snapshots

And that’s all.  I really love dreams.  Time and Space don’t have rules there, so the threads of our stories combine in ways that seem like nonsense, but are they? 

My sleep tracker tells me I can spend up to 2 hours in REM sleep.  Where am I, then?  Why can I only bring back blurry snapshots?  If I find my lost manuscript, how will I ever bring it back?